


Zafando Del Olor (Flash Forward)

by ayerlind



Series: I Could Live a Little More [7]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Bratty Juanito, Flash Forward, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I swear to god that dude always has to be touching something or someone, Jan Vertonghen and Paulo Gazzaniga: The World's Most Unexpected Cheer-Up Squad, Jan gives solid advice, Red Card, Tactile Paulo, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tottenham Hotspur, Tour Bus, after-match, bless his heart, but Juan can't lmao, you can tell something is going on with Paulo and Jan if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23036644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayerlind/pseuds/ayerlind
Summary: May 2019It was almost - almost - funny when Juan slammed through the door to the changing room at Dean Court, startling Sonny into fumbling his phone with a yelp.  It got less funny very quickly when Juan had to admit that he, like Sonny, had been sent off with a red card.
Series: I Could Live a Little More [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621807
Kudos: 15





	Zafando Del Olor (Flash Forward)

04 May, 2019

Bournemouth

It was almost - _almost_ \- funny when Juan slammed through the door to the changing room at Dean Court, startling Sonny into fumbling his phone with a yelp. It got less funny very quickly when Juan had to admit that he, like Sonny, had been sent off with a red card. 

“We’re playing with _nine_?” Sonny asked incredulously. His whole sweet face crumpled and he covered it with his hands when Juan nodded miserably, moaning something extensive and despairing in Korean. Then he sighed heavily, shook it off, and smiled. He got up to drape both arms around Juan, who chuckled a bit joylessly and hugged him close, petting Sonny’s hair when Sonny rested his head on Juan’s chest. “Hey, we’ll be okay,” Sonny murmured. “You did your best.” 

His voice was so certain that Juan almost believed him. 

Juan ended up glad that he had Sonny’s kindness to hang onto over the next few hours, because the post-match atmosphere was... just a bit chilly from his perspective. He timed it so that he was mid-shower when the bulk of the team came back with their emotions fresh from the pitch, but he was still very aware of several sidelong glances that followed him between the shower and the changing room. Dele definitely said something under his breath when he strutted by; Christian was giving him some thousand-metre Danish death glower. Coco came over to hug him and offer a quiet pep talk, at least, and Juan leaned on him for the better part of a minute or two, but Juan was terrible company and he knew it, and Coco drifted off with Moussa and Harry eventually, leaving Juan alone with his turmoil once again. 

He tried to keep his head down until it was time to leave, but he couldn’t escape a quiet talking-to from Hugo, or another one from the gaffer. Honestly, he couldn’t even quantify which one was worse. They both left him feeling like he’d disappointed his dad somehow - Pochettino was more cross, and rightfully so, at Juan’s recklessness. Albeit gently, he scolded Juan for not thinking about the big picture and left him feeling like he’d let the team down. Hugo started by sincerely asking whether he was alright, which somehow felt even worse. Seeing Hugo’s wide, dark eyes full of pity and doubt made him feel like he’d let _himself_ down. 

He slipped out quickly, before Paulo or Davinson could find him to commiserate. It was frustrating - he wanted to be comforted, but he didn’t really want to deal with anyone, even his best friends. The desire for peace swiftly won that battle, and he escaped quickly enough to be first on the coach, immediately going upstairs to claim the back bench seat for himself. It was usually a natural split when they had double-decker coaches - the quieter people had always just filtered upstairs, and the extroverts played Uno, watched movies, and streamed to Instagram below them. That sort of unspoken arrangement meant that Juan wasn’t alone for long, soon acquiring company in the form of Fernando, Ben, Jan, and Toby about halfway up. Fernando and Ben were each almost immediately absorbed in their own book, and across the aisle, Jan and Toby just had their heads together, speaking quietly in Dutch. Up ahead of them, separated by another four or five rows, the goalkeepers filtered up and soon began playing poker, with long stretches of near-silence punctuated by low laughter and muttered profanities. 

Juan sighed as the coach began to rumble forward. He shifted his position so that his back would stop aching, made his backpack-pillow a bit more comfortable, and pulled his phone from his hoodie pocket, scrolling through his playlists. He was getting ready to make a change from ‘loud and indignant’ to something more on the ‘lonely and self-deprecating’ side of things when he was distracted by a shadow falling across him. Suddenly he couldn’t see past the brightness of his phone, so he put it down and sat up a bit, trying on a smile when he discovered that the shadow belonged to Paulo, and that he didn’t mind it quite as much as he expected. 

“Hey, _‘mano_ ,” he muttered, relaxing again. Paulo shifted and dipped his head in greeting - as far as he could, anyway, considering how hunched over he already was. It was legitimately comical to watch Paulo and Fernando when they had to navigate spaces that didn’t really take the two-metre crowd into consideration. Juan was just about to tease him about it when he realised that there was another body inhabiting the shadow, and he tipped his head back to get a better look just as Jan popped around Paulo’s shoulder. 

“This nosy brat...” Paulo muttered in Spanish, and Juan couldn't help smiling at Jan’s brief suspicious glare. It was gone by the time Paulo looked at him, though, and replaced with a smile aimed at Juan. 

“Hey, Juanito.” Jan’s grin was a little teasing, but mostly just kind, and it grew when Juan rolled his eyes at the nickname.

“Sorry,” Juan said. He stuck to English for Jan’s benefit, even though he was cranky and really would have preferred if Paulo had come over by himself so that he didn’t have to do that extra layer of thinking. “I know I’m not... being social.” 

“That’s fine.” Jan manoeuvered himself into the row ahead of the back bench seat, kneeling on the cushion and hooking his arms around the back of the headrest so that he could smile knowingly at Juan. “Don’t blame you. You had a bad game - well, about two and a half minutes of one.”

Juan groaned, rolling his eyes. Jan’s cheeky little grin softened the sting of the words, almost as amusing as the way that Paulo grunted, pinching Jan’s arm and smirking when he yelped. “Be nice, Vertonghen. Now you,” Paulo continued pointedly, and Juan blinked when he found himself suddenly at the end of an imperious gesture. “Move.”

Juan would do no such thing. Paulo could pretend to be all growly, but Juan had seen him bellyflop across the length of a sofa in order to stuff his face into his dog’s fur and make baby noises at him for ten minutes. Paulo was _not_ scary. 

Paulo glanced at Jan, who shrugged. Then he looked back at Juan. “Fine. I move you.”

Before Juan could ask just what the hell he thought he meant by that, Paulo grabbed one giant handful of the front of Juan’s hoodie and simply lifted his torso straight up, making him scoff indignantly. He didn’t even have time to fight; in one swift movement, Juan’s backpack was deposited onto the floor and replaced by Paulo, and Juan let out a disgruntled groan as Paulo’s arms wound around him, literally just hauling Juan into his lap like a child and pinning his arms down with a hug. _“Cabrón,”_ he grumbled, trying to twist away. 

Paulo said nothing, only laughed softly into the curve of Juan’s shoulder while Juan pretended like he had any chance at either struggling against his grip or resisting his own begrudging laughter. He only got out a few words of protest before he let slip the first giggle, trying to twist his ticklish neck away from Paulo’s beard and swearing at them both - in English, for Jan’s benefit. 

“Hey, sorry for the noise!” Jan said loudly enough to carry across the top level of the coach, and Juan clenched his jaw against further laughter, feeling warm with embarrassment throughout. Jan’s voice was far louder than his laughter had been. “We’re trying to cheer him up! It’s an emergency!”

Out of the remaining people up there, only one even reacted - not even looking up from his book, Fernando just called over his shoulder, _“¿Necesitas ayuda?”_

Juan didn’t even use words - he just whined affirmatively.

“No,” Paulo answered in his stead, his voice firm. Fernando made a dismissive noise and Juan scoffed, pretty sure that he should be offended by the notion that Paulo was allowed to answer that question on his behalf. He twisted and opened his mouth to say as much when Paulo gave him a gentle shake. “Hey, _calma_ . Juan,” he said sharply, and it wasn’t ‘Juanito’ or _‘hermano’_ or anything distracting or cutesy, which earned Paulo a few points right now. Juan held still, with some effort, to show that he was listening, and he felt Paulo’s sigh ruffle his hair more than he actually heard it.

“What?” prompted Juan. He couldn’t look at Paulo without doing a bit of twisting, and he was currently held tight in a pair of very strong arms. Glancing at Jan and seeing the way that his blue eyes darted to the side, though, gave Juan the idea that the two older men were communicating without him. He felt indignant all over again, the rest of his short-lived mirth draining out with a sigh. “What?” he pressed.

He felt Paulo shift with a shrug. “You fucked up,” Paulo said simply. 

It sort of shocked Juan into actual stillness. The arms around him tightened briefly, then released all of their pressure; Paulo was no longer holding him in place, and Juan felt better immediately. He didn’t want to go anywhere - he’d likely never say it aloud, but he found it ridiculously endearing that Paulo, his sort of “big brother” on the team, was one of the exceptionally rare people on the planet who was actually big and strong enough to manhandle and roughhouse with Juan and make him feel even remotely small. He was fine with being in Paulo’s lap; having been literally hauled into it was both funny and bizarrely comforting. He just didn’t want to be _held_ there. 

Glancing up into Jan’s keen eyes, he again found himself wishing that this conversation didn’t have an audience. He didn’t know where Paulo was going with this, but he clearly expected some kind of response, so Juan sighed. “I know,” he said bitterly. 

“This is the first time ever?”

Juan rolled his eyes. “No—“

“Then, this is the last time ever?”

 _“Basta ya,”_ snapped Juan. He started to twist away again, back to being annoyed. Was he supposed to just ignore all of this because it wasn’t his first mistake ever? 

_“‘Mano—“_

“Paulo, leave him alone.” The sniping stopped and both of them turned to stare at Jan, who looked about as surprised at himself as they did. Juan finally twisted to look at Paulo’s face - he was staring intently at Jan, looking less upset about being interrupted and more just... intrigued. There was a beat where something was silently exchanged between the two, and Jan lifted one shoulder in a shrug. 

“Go on, ” Paulo said to him. 

Jan’s frame lost a bit of tension and he smiled at Paulo, then slid from his seat over to the other side of theirs, which Juan had been happily taking up the entirety of before he was so unceremoniously wrangled. He crossed his legs in front of him, sitting sideways on the bench before he thought about his words, scratching at his wiry red stubble. “It’s different, no?” he finally prompted. “Than those other times?”

He waited for Juan to nod, then mirrored the action. 

“Paulo, you’ve never had a red card,” Jan continued, and Paulo hummed affirmatively. “I know how it feels when Hugo treats you differently for a little while, and the looks from the team and the crowd abuse you can hear when you come off the pitch. The Talk.” He and Juan shared another nod, and Juan felt a bit of the weight lift off of him. He was already worried that he was being selfish and overreacting, but Jan, at least, was showing him that he wasn’t imagining everything. “And when I got mine, we still had ten guys out there.” 

Juan narrowed his eyes, but he realised Jan wasn’t teasing him at all. He was genuinely admitting that his situation was different and that they were out of their depth on exactly how Juan was feeling right now, which Juan appreciated more than he expected. He chewed on his lip, shifting his position for comfort and then relaxing again when Paulo moved his leg a little. “That part is... yeah,” he finally said, wobbling his head a little. “The talks from Hugo and Poch... really not as helpful as they think. It’s everything I already beat myself up for, so...” He shifted his eyes off to the side and shrugged. Aggressively. 

Jan bobbed his head in understanding, toying with a loose denim thread flying off from his inseam by his knee. “I know. Do you want some advice?”

“I can say no?” muttered Juan, mostly just on principle.

“If you want. Sure,” Jan responded easily.

Juan picked his head up and looked carefully at him. Jan wasn’t someone he spent an excess of time with; even though they were both defenders, Jan tended to stick with the other older players and Juan was typically ensconced within the pack of Spanish boys. Because of this, he admittedly wasn’t good at reading the Belgian. He was tempted to test the truth of it, but in all honesty... he kind of wanted the advice. “Sure,” he parroted, gesturing for Jan to go on. 

“With Poch, with Hugo... with a lot of people who feel like they need to tell you very obvious things, they really don’t think you’re just stupid. They just want to know that _they_ have done everything to help. Even,” he said when Juan opened his mouth, “when you didn’t ask for their help.”

Juan slouched back against Paulo’s chest; that was indeed what he had planned on retorting. 

Jan hummed knowingly, turning to face forward again and stretching his legs out, gesturing vaguely. “I think that too many people don’t care enough about whether you’ve already considered something, or if you’ve heard it from someone else. If they think that _their_ advice or view or idea is what might work for you...” He made a considering noise. “It’s not as much about you as it feels. Even when it seems like everyone’s saying that they don’t think you’re smart enough or talented enough or whatever... honestly? I think most of them haven’t even gotten as far as thinking about you at all.”

Juan considered that for a few seconds, and it made quite a bit of sense. So much of the advice that he got from people started out with something like ‘I’m probably not the first person to tell you this, but just in case’ - it was only rarely advice that people truly thought would be unique. They really did just want to be the person that helped. 

“Wow,” he murmured. He tilted his head at Jan, finally smiling a little. “Okay. Good advice,” he said. 

Jan blushed when he shrugged modestly, and Juan felt Paulo quake with a restrained chuckle. 

“Paulo?” They all looked up at the interruption of Hugo’s soft voice and found him taking up the aisle, hanging a few rows back so that he wouldn’t be intruding on them. He smiled and held up the deck of cards that they had all been using, coming forward to hand it to Paulo, the apparent rightful owner. “Here. Alfie’s falling asleep so Mich went downstairs, and it's not the right time of night for playing with myself.”

He winked, which startled a laugh out of Juan. Jan teased Hugo in French while Paulo took the cards, sticking them in the front pocket of Juan’s backpack. The familiarity of it all made Juan smile. 

Hugo turned to leave but Jan reached up and snagged the back of his t-shirt - not to hold him in place, simply to get his attention again. “Hey, you broke Juanito earlier. Tell him to cheer the fuck up.”

Juan wanted to protest, but Hugo was already turning and tilting his head at him. Juan bravely met the captain’s gaze, although his current somewhat protected position made the gesture feel less badass.

Hugo’s eyes crinkled with one of his mischievous smiles. “Cheer the fuck up, Juan,” he said plainly, then winked at Jan and ambled away.

They all laughed at their departing skipper and Juan genuinely did cheer up, lifted on the shoulders of Jan’s advice and the proof that Hugo wasn’t stewing in hatred for him or anything. Eventually Paulo and Jan went back to sit with Toby, and when Juan went down to the lower level in search of a little more fun, he was welcomed with grins and hugs and an obnoxiously wet smack on the cheek from Davinson. Dele put down instagram long enough to come over and hug him and apologise for ‘whatever bratty arsehole thing I probably said after the game’ and Christian did as well - with a slightly more mature apology that, conversely, hadn’t been solely the effort of a quite solid-looking Eric Dier visibly prodding him to do the right thing. 

Jan was right. Neither believed at their core that Juan was a bad player, or that he was bad for the team, or that their loss today was even his fault at all. It had been about them and their feelings and their need to be heard (or in Christian's case, have his glare witnessed) in the moment.

It was easy sometimes to feel the pressure not to be the single failure in such a strong chain. Two whole seasons down, and on occasion, Juan still found himself reeling that he was weighed, measured, and found to be on par with some of these guys. Some of the top athletes of their time, captains of their national teams, and the highest capped players in the history of their countries called Tottenham home - and these were the same guys who loved him and trusted him, and who had his back without question. Even when he messed up. 

And he did. He messed up. As unhelpful as it has been when Paulo said it, it wasn’t his first and it wouldn’t be his last. As with any mistake, he vowed to make it worth it by learning from it. Some things that he learned would make his game better; some things, like learning to trust that his team - his family - would always be there for him, made his whole life better. 

  
  



End file.
